


all of your light

by chininiris



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), War Phase, no beta we die like Glenn, recurring themes are:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chininiris/pseuds/chininiris
Summary: vi. stay“Professor, you must be freezing.” Dimitri doesn’t think much of his actions, simply drapes his cape over her shoulders. Byleth stiffens, but quickly lowers her guard and steps closer, seeking his warmth.“It is a bit cold, yes.” He almost laughs - of course she will never admit that Fhirdiad is too cold for her - and pulls her closer still.Various dimileth scenarios in the form of drabbles, ficlets, and such.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 34
Kudos: 230





	1. daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Chi, fairly new to Fire Emblem as a whole and stupidly obsessed with Three Houses as of late. So obsessed you wouldn't believe I had zero interest in the game back in July.
> 
> I've finished Azure Moon, obviously, and I've started GD. Stopped halfway through BE, because I was trying to save BL for last but pfft AS IF I could stay away from Dimitri, so I just switched routes. I lasted two whole weeks tho. Proud of myself for that. 
> 
> Anyways, please accept this token as my love for this ship! I have a few more already finished and some ideas written down, but I'm always open to new ideas. 
> 
> [Fic title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLAhRiUeJ8E) comes from here, as I've recently rediscovered my love for this duo. Enjoy!

Byleth wakes up to grey early morning light filtering through the gaps of the curtains. She’s always been an early riser and a light sleeper, thanks to being on the battlefield for most of her life, so being awake at this hour isn't so unusual, even after the war. 

Nor is waking up because her dear husband made some loud noise, his big frame making it hard for him to be stealthy despite valiant his attempts at not disturbing her sleep.

She reaches out for the opposite side of the bed, finding nothing but empty space and cool sheets that would have been untouched had she not tugged at them during her sleep. The absence of a warm body fills her with worry, eyes fighting against the sleepiness settled so deep in her bones, struggling to stay awake. 

The hot cup of chamomile tea before bed did its trick, and the layers of blankets and pelts to ward off the cold bite of winter in Fhirdiad keep her warm and cozy. The idea of going back to sleep is tempting, but her husband’s whereabouts are more important.

Their royal chamber is dark save for a tiny, flickering flame on a study desk located on the far side of the room. She can see the outline of her husband's body, the broad shoulders and narrow waist, spine curved forward as he rests his head in his hand. Byleth would have thought he had fallen asleep on the spot in the middle of reviewing paperwork, tired to his bones after a long day of meetings, had she not noticed the way his calloused fingers curled tightly around blonde strands of hair. 

Old demons are hard to kill, some harder than others.

Lifting herself up to rest her weight on a bent elbow, Byleth calls out to him, voice still raspy from sleep. "Dear?"

The simple endearment is enough to bring him back to the present, the little light from the candle dissipating as his figures blows it out as he stands. He comes to her with just a single call, the same way she would to him, prompt and quick. The mattress dips beneath his weight, her body following the gentle downward slope and tilting in his direction. 

"Why are you awake so early, my love?" He brushes her bangs away from her face, and she sighs, leaning into his touch. "Get some more rest. You need it."

Byleth wonders what it was that woke her up - a quill snapping, wood bending and cracking under his fingers, a growl of frustration perhaps - and shakes her head, saying instead, "I'm fine. You, on the other hand, could use some rest."

Dimitri dips his head down to meet the hand she raises, his blue eye closing when her thumb gently brushes over the darkened skin beneath. The shadows aren't as dark and deep as they used to be when no one knew if they would live to see another sunrise, but they are more prominent in sleepless nights like this. She regrets falling asleep first and leaving him alone with some of his lingering ghosts, but she can't regret the reason why she's always so tired these past weeks.

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

His eye softens, shoulders lowering and lips curling in a small smile. She can see in his eye that he wants comfort, but there is also stubbornness in there in equal amounts. Dimitri shakes his head, bending down to place a kiss upon her brow, the tips of his golden hair tickling her face. "I do not wish to trouble you with it when you’re still soft with sleep, beloved."

"But, dear," Byleth pulls away to give him her best pleading look, purposefully jutting her bottom lip out in a pout. "If you hide it from me, I'll worry, and I can't get worried because that's-"

"Not good for the baby, I know." He huffs and she cracks a smile, sighing when his large hand rests over her stomach. "That isn't exactly what the doctor said, you know."

“But you’re also interpreting his words wrongly.” Byleth rebukes. "I don't remember him saying I wasn't allowed to be concerned for you either."

"You're impossible." Dimitri sighs in mock defeat, earning a light slap to his thigh. "But if I tell you, you will be worried too."

"Then, how about you lie here with me?" She offers, already scooting backwards despite the fact that the bed is large enough for the both of them. “Allow me to at least hold you.” 

He hums, accepting her invitation as he sheds his clothes and lets them pile up on the floor. Byleth notices he never bothered to change into his night clothes prior, but she decides to chide him later. As of now, his bare skin under her hands is what he needs.

Dimitri lifts the blankets and slides underneath, settling into the protective circle of her arms as his hand rubs circles over her stomach. She finds it endearing how much time he spends showering that area with attention, his touches gentle and caring. Sometimes, she will hear him talking to their unborn baby when she’s on the edge of unconsciousness, and other times he will lay his head on her stomach, hopeful to hear a tiny kick. 

Her pregnancy is fairly new, as they found out about it a few weeks prior when Byleth had been unable to hold anything in her stomach for too long, which positively drove Dimitri mad with worry. Mercedes had been the one to deliver the joyful news, and Byleth doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the stunned look Dimitri had on his face. 

Almost like he couldn’t believe that he had helped create a life, instead of taking one. 

Before long, their friends and comrades were notified and congratulatory letters found their way to the castle. Later, an official announcement was made. Still, there is no bump on her stomach yet, but it doesn’t stop Dimitri from cooing at it at any given opportunity. 

She hears him sigh deeply, head resting on her chest, the ministration of her fingers on his hair bringing him closer to a state of relaxation. “Tired?” 

“Hmm, very.” He makes to move, but she keeps him in place with her arms. “My beloved, I’m too heavy. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You’ve fallen asleep on top of me plenty of times,” she replies, nonchalant, recalling all the naps he’d taken with her legs framing his ribs, his head on her stomach. “I can handle this.” 

Dimitri attempts to protest, but he’s been fighting a losing battle against sleep for a while, now. Once he’d snapped back to his senses during the war, Byleth was the one he sought for comfort, only allowing himself to show the true extent of his grief and guilt to her, and since then he’s been powerless against her careful, tender touches. 

The poor disturbed prince was starved of affection, having known only pain and rage for the five years that she’d been absent from their lives. She did not hold all the answers and correct words to soothe his pain, but she could hold him and provide with the love he needed.

Byleth cranes her neck to place a soft kiss on the crown of his head, concentrating on his slow, even breathing that fans a strip of uncovered skin. He’s finally asleep and now is not the time to recall one of the saddest moments of their lives. 

She reaches down to lace her fingers with his, still resting on top of her stomach. No time to dwell on the past when they are working hard to pave a better future and there are better, brighter things their way, such as a physical proof of their unconditional love and loyalty to one another. 

With a sigh of her own, Byleth sinks further into the warmth of their bed and closes her eyes. She may have to return to Garreg Mach before her belly grows too big, so she might as well enjoy Dimitri’s embrace in this home while she can.


	2. tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently I read a fic which already depicted something like this, but since I had already written it, why not publish, right? At this point, it might be hard to find 100% original ideas anyways asjdhska dunno how well this could fit into canon, so here's a bit of an experimentation based on my own playthrough. Every day I would visit Dimitri so he would know he was loved and cherished. 
> 
> This is also a little holidays gift for you all. Happy holidays and stay safe!

Alone in the Cardinals’ Room, Byleth shuffles a couple of papers into a messy pile and prepares to call it a day. A long, endless day. Seteth stayed with her for as long as he managed, but after Flayn fell asleep curled in a chair by his side, he soon took her to their rooms after warning Byleth to not stay up too late, which she did anyway. 

There’s a crick in her neck, and she feels both tired and restless, with too much pent up energy in her bones but still too exhausted to battle it out. A good soak in warm water could help, but she would only end up falling asleep in the tub. 

She has somewhere to be before she rests her head on a pillow. 

The kitchen is empty this late into the night. A few embers glow in the stove as Byleth rekindles them to heat up some water, and then looks for some leftovers from Mercedes’s baking session that afternoon. The last meal she had was at sunset at the same time as everyone else. Ashe kindly brought her a tray of food to the Cardinals’ Room, and she ate it quickly between pouring over battle strategies and calculating finances.

Byleth grabs a bread loaf and some sweet buns, wraps them up in a white cloth, and prepares the mugs for the tea. Most of the fine tea sets from five years ago are gone, hastily replaced by cheaper, simpler versions that do the job just as well. Still, she goes for the mugs, sturdier and easier for big hands to handle, and makes a mental note to keep the one with the chipped paint to herself.

With the treats in a basket and mugs in her hands, she leaves for the cathedral. This visit is going to cost her an hour of sleep, something precious these days when they’re always fighting, always planning, always training, always on the move - but Byleth would rather be tired for a few hours than not see him for a day. 

It is unknown still why he isolates himself in the cathedral. Dimitri wasn’t much of a believer when younger, and though hardships make some people turn to religion, he certainly headed down a very different path. Still, he stands there before the rubble as if waiting for something, a sign or an answer, or what have you. 

Out of curiosity, one day she headed to the second floor of the dormitory to check on the state of the rooms. His had been untouched, a layer of dust resting over the furniture like he never bothered to set foot in there since he found his way back to the monastery.

Edelgard’s room, however, was in ruins, unrecognizable. 

Dimitri sleeps - _if_ he sleeps at all - in a dark corner of the cathedral, close by the doors leading to the Holy Mausoleum. She finds him there time and time again, and occupies the same empty spot to his left where he can easily see her. She sets basket of goods in between them, places the steaming mug of tea by his hip, and uncovers the bread and buns in a silent offering. 

Byleth waits patiently, always.

In the first weeks of their reunion, Dimitri would be a living statue, unresponsive to the events around him unless in battle. As the days passed, he began to acknowledge her presence, from turning his head in her direction to telling her to go away or worse. 

It feels like progress, and fills her with hope that something can be done. Maybe the Dimitri she knew is truly gone, but perhaps she can change the man he’s become into someone better.

“We need more supplies. Weapons, food, materials for the restoration of the Monastery...” She begins, tearing a loaf of bread in two. He doesn’t attend to their daily meetings, and she takes it upon herself to debrief him every night. “Ashe and I are going into the nearest town soon to try to get some for lower prices, and hopefully find new recruits.” 

Byleth holds up half of the loaf in his line of sight. He always takes too long to cave in, but lately he’s been more compliant with some of her advances. It’s been brought to attention that he cooperates with her the most out of everyone else, even when she has to use her goddess-enhanced strength to get him to listen. 

Wordlessly, Dimitri takes the piece of bread, and she smiles softly. 

She understands him, to some extent, the way he blames himself for the deaths of his loved ones. It’s a similar feeling to what is nestled in her chest now, the guilt and blame for having left him alone, left all of them alone, for not being there to offer a supporting hand, a shoulder to cry on, a pair of arms to run into.

Maybe, if she hadn’t gone missing, things wouldn’t have gotten to this point. Maybe she could have found Dimitri shortly after he broke out, or helped him escape, or even prevented all of that from happening. He wouldn’t have succumbed to loneliness and rage, become a stranger to good care and affection, become someone who’s barely recognizable. 

No use on dwelling on it now. Her divine powers only permit so much time to be rewound and five years is too far back. Byleth can only make up for it by staying by his side and never leaving again.

Dimitri always laughs when she states as such, dark and humorless like she’s just told him some twisted, sick joke. It cuts deeper than he probably intends, and though she doesn’t blame him for the skepticism, it hurts all the same to have him doubt her words. 

So Byleth would rather show him than tell, as her actions always spoke much louder than her words, and if it takes nights of sharing bread and tea in the darkness of the cathedral for him to realize that yes, she does mean it when she says she will stick with him through thick and thin, then so be it. Byleth refuses to lose him for good. 

He takes his first bite of the bread long after she’s finished her piece, and it’s a conscious effort to not reach out and brush the crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth.

Instead, Byleth stretches her legs and leans back against the wall. She was never one for tea before she came to the Monastery, and the taste of chamomile hadn’t been one of her favorites, though it grew on her after many shared cups with Dimitri. It’s relaxing, and slows down her brain as it keeps on overthinking and strategizing even during sleep. It’s been helpful these days when all she does is work and work. 

As the tea relaxes her muscles, and the exhaustion of a long day catches up to her, Byleth is only partially aware that her body is sliding sideways against the wall. Her head meets something solid, but still warm and soft under her cheek, and she sighs in contentment, snuggling deeper into it. 

A beat of stillness later, something falls over her shoulders, protecting her from the cool air of the cathedral and effectively silencing every war-related thought. Byleth sleeps on peacefully.


	3. ashen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri looks at her now, all deadly grace and vacant eyes, tearing a path with her sword through the battlefield, specks of blood on her skin, and he wonders which of them would cause more nightmares at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea one day but my brain turned it around, so now we have this instead. This is now another experimentation piece *jazz hands*
> 
> As far as holidays went, mine were quite productive! I finished GD/VW and now I'm omw to Silver Snow. Fighting Dimitri was hard enough in VW, so I'm leaving CF for last rip. There's also this 27k monstrosity I'm writing currently, but tbh idek where I'm going with that or what I'm doing, so who knows when it will be posted? (considering how impatient and anxious I am, I would say pretty soon hah)
> 
> My new year's resolution is to reply to comments so, yeah, you'll hear from me................. pretty soon........ I think. Regardless, thank you for the kudos and comments so far! They're very much appreciated!

Pain and lightheadedness are no strangers to Dimitri. 

By now, he’s used to fighting through blood loss, cracked bones and open wounds until his legs give out, surviving just to put his life on the line as soon as he can stand on his own again. Rinse and repeat until he can avenge every loved one that has fallen by the hands of that despicable woman.

The three arrows stuck on his shoulder blades are a nuisance, but the sting of pain is hardly noticeable when he's gritting his teeth and forcing his lance through the chests of Empire soldiers, revelling in the way they crumple as he stabs some vital organ. He's ruthless, yes, but it's the fitting price they have to pay for being affiliated with _her_.

Most of his battalion has fallen, only a few standing against the overwhelming force of Empire troops. Dimitri snarls to silence the tiny voice in his head that berates him for disregarding Gilbert's and Byleth's words, his ghosts soon shutting it up with their deafening roar. Both had warned him against engaging the Adrestian Empire so soon when their own group was still recovering from the last battle, a warning that fell on deaf ears. 

How many soldiers had he killed by himself in the last five years? If his own troops are falling while he still stands, then it means they are unfit and too weak for the reality of this world.

Soldiers and knights circle him, work together to bring down an enraged beast, but he fights tooth and nail to remain victorious, works to turn the tides and overpower them instead. Too many weapons pointed at him, too many new slashes to his body, new scars to add to his growing collection. He doesn’t fear he will die by their hands, because he will kill every single one of them before that happens, regardless of the ringing in his ears and the blurriness of his sight. 

Dimitri pulls back his arm, watching with sick, twisted satisfaction as blood pours from the fresh wound on the knight’s stomach, and whirls around to take another foe. All around him, the sounds of blades clashing and whiny cries ring through this part of the battlefield, away from the others he’d come with. 

A horrified scream comes from somewhere behind him, but still it’s nothing unusual or out of the norm. What makes him pause are the screams of similar nature that follow, too many almost at once, some being cut off abruptly and replaced by gurgling sounds. The world spins and some of the soldiers surrounding him turn to take on this unstoppable force instead, only to fall like pawns on a game of chess as the person wreaks havoc. 

Spots dance in his vision and he blinks to clear his eye, a blur breezing past not too far away and felling three knights at once. He finishes one off and incapacitates another, working on nothing but the pure, unadulterated hatred and rage that have made a home out of his chest long ago. 

Another soldier falls as he retracts his lance, and then he sees _her_.

Byleth has always had a grace to her movements that no one could quite explain. Not quite graceful like Mercedes or Dorothea, but it was evident in certain actions, like when she prepared tea or tended to flowers in the greenhouse, or let her fingers skim the page of a book as she explained a certain section of battle tactics. Like five years ago, she still moves oh so quietly, and it adds to this unexplainable grace when she walks through the cathedral and her heels barely click or echo. 

Such grace is more noticeable in the battlefield. She’s lived all her life as a mercenary, whilst most of her students had only fought in controlled spaces with trusted people as sparring partners prior to this war. Nimble on her feet, she twirls and slashes and makes some unnecessary trick with her sword in between, aweing and inspiring those nearby.

The way she carries herself speaks of confidence, and her actions and touches speak louder than the feelings she doesn’t quite know how to show on her face still. 

Dimitri remembers when he first met her, how she had disposed of the bandits without batting an eyelash, her movements precise and mindful of the teenagers fighting alongside her. He talked to her about it later, how he couldn’t trust someone that looked so apathetic as they killed, and she confessed that she didn’t take joy in it.

He looks at her now and feels himself transported to the past, back to that first meeting, but not. 

He’s vicious, he knows as much, merciless, ruthless, like a wild animal on rampage. He can break a skull with his bare hands and easily tear a limb away if he so wishes, heads will roll if he’s given an axe or sword or anything sharp enough, eye glinting with insanity and thirst for Hresvelg blood. 

Dimitri looks at her now, all deadly grace and vacant eyes, tearing a path with her sword through the battlefield, specks of blood on her skin, and he wonders which of them would cause more nightmares at night. 

If he recalls correctly, she should have been in all the way across the field, against her own desires as she took it upon herself to keep him alive until he reaches Enbarr. How fast had she run, how quickly had she killed, how many did she cut down to reach him so fast?

She seems distant, detached, like an external force is guiding her body through the movements, hands and feet working with her sword. Byleth kicks a man in the face with enough force to send him toppling to the ground, and recovers quick enough to deliver a swift death to a woman that tried to strike from behind. Her eyebrows don’t do as much as twitch as she moves from one target to the next, just a blur, just a spectre.

A ghost. A demon. The Ashen Demon. 

He’s heard the rumors, all right. They were whispered behind her back in the hallways of Garreg Mach, during meals, in between practices. For her, killing was as easy as breathing, a task she performed without second thought if deemed necessary, her strength and skill worth that of a decent sized battalion. Dimitri thought they were certainly exaggerating and hoped to never witness such moments, lest he found out the rumors weren’t so unfounded after all. 

Five years later and he finally sees it. 

Maybe he should take pleasure in the way she disposes of them so quickly and efficiently, but there’s nothing but an ugly emotion inside him. They already have a bloodthirsty monster in their ranks, there is no need for her to stoop so low like he did. 

Byleth shouldn’t be seen as anything but human.

Dimitri only notices he’s relying on his lance for support when they’re the last two standing, straightening up as she does. Back turned to him, Byleth stands unmoving, likely assessing the carnage she’s caused and he witnessed from up close, blood dripping from the blade in her hands. Bodies lie limp around them, from both their small army and _hers_ , clothes stained red, face caked with mud. The battlefield is quiet and they won this round. She slashes her sword in the air to rid it of blood, then stands still. 

Finally, she shudders, her whole frame shaking, and with that, he knows she’s snapped out of it. 

Byleth turns and hurries in his direction, feet almost clumsy and something unreadable in her eyes. He doesn’t move as she stands beside him, nor when she lifts her hands to the arrows stuck on his back, nor when she hesitates and drops them to her sides. Byleth averts her gaze and takes a step back. “Are you okay?” 

The answers are obvious, both the truth and the one he would give her, so Dimitri doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, he scrutinizes her, stares at her hands, mildly surprised when she moves them behind her back to keep them out of sight. 

“We should go, then,” she says at last and begins to walk away. 

Dimitri ponders on it before he can push the thought away. Despite his own attempts at keeping everyone at a distance, Byleth still reaches out for him and touches him no matter how many times he shrugs her off. She will wrestle and pin him down if necessary to dress his wounds, and more often than not will hold her ground in long sparring sessions against him when he’s on the edge of complete insanity, bearing the brunt of his vicious strikes and harsh words. 

Her hands are strong, skilled, but tender and caring when needed. She always showed her appreciation for her students with pats on their shoulders or ruffling their hair. Her hands, in all honesty, are incredibly powerful in many different ways.

But he recognized the look in her eyes, what made her pull away, what made her keep the distance he tried hard to maintain after she slaughtered dozens to ensure he’d come out alive, what made her hide her hands from him. It’s the same look he sees in himself if he dares to look at his reflection in a mirror for a single second. 

Disgust at one self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular brain: feral Dimitri protecting Byleth
> 
> Galaxy brain: feral Byleth protecting Dimitri


	4. warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time, he had to stop to pick up the pieces, try to keep himself whole but still losing a part of himself in the process. One piece always goes missing, but this time someone might find all the fragments scattered on the grounds of the stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Byleth being added to Smash, have this! Features the rain scene, touch starved Dimitri, nudity, and awkward boners. :^)

Once again, his life is falling apart. First, it was surrounded by flames, the taste of ash on his tongue and his father’s body lost in the chaos. Then, the sky was aflame with the setting sun, students panicking and running as his school was invaded. Later, it was in a place he used to call home, snow by his feet and the ever present Dedue missing by his side. Now, it’s under the rain in a place that once brought him joy, but now he haunts its hallways. 

Every time, he had to stop to pick up the pieces, try to keep himself whole but still losing a part of himself in the process. One piece always goes missing, but this time someone might find all the fragments scattered on the grounds of the stable.

Dimitri looks at the proffered hand, then at the smiling face of his professor. Byleth’s lips are quirked in a gentle little smile that makes his heart clench tighter in pain, her eyes soft and tender. But she doesn’t look at him with pity; it’s more like sympathy, and that he can stomach. 

It’s comforting to have her offering her hand again. The last time, he didn’t take it, too distrustful of her sudden appearance and what it could mean. Maybe if he had accepted it, he would have started recovering sooner, faster, and it wouldn’t have cost him an old friend, or cost Felix his father. Maybe he wouldn’t be here now, breaking down in the rain and feeling like the hopeless thirteen year old he used to be. 

Dimitri takes her hand, finding instant comfort in the sure grip of her fingers around his bigger limb, but Byleth doesn’t stop there. She steps closer to him and reaches up to touch his face with care. Even under the coolness of the rain, her touch is... 

“Your hands are so warm.” Before he knows it, he’s leaning into her touch, eyelid fluttering closed. “Have they always been?” 

Her thumb strokes his cheekbone before her hand slips to the back of his neck, tugging him down towards her shoulder as her other arm rises up to wrap around him in an embrace. Dimitri has to hunch his back to be able to hide his face in the crook of her neck. She’s much smaller than him, but still he feels protected and safe. Safer than he’s been in so long.

Not only are her hands warm, but her whole body is as well. It elicits a full-body shiver from him, soaked to the bone as he is and used to the everlasting coldness inside. 

To be touched so tenderly after years of pain is a foreign feeling, but he finds himself craving more. In response to his urges, Dimitri fists the fabric of her overcoat in his hands and pulls her ever closer, seeking the warmth and care that’s been missing from his life. Byleth continues to stroke his hair long after he’s calmed down and the tears have stopped. 

“Let’s warm you up,” she whispers, pulling away but clasping his hand to pull him along. 

From the stables, they head to the bath house. Byleth only parts momentarily from him to talk to someone - Seteth, he realizes, standing by the door of the dining hall, vigilant. Dimitri feels a trickle of shame at how quickly he latches onto her hand when she returns to his side, but Byleth doesn’t seem to mind. She squeezes his hand gently and continues to guide him through empty halls. 

The bath house is equally empty. As acting archbishop, to compensate for the bigger room she didn’t accept, Byleth was given a private bath for herself, and that is where she takes him, the steam of the room making his skin prickle with bumps beneath the layers he wears. 

Nudity doesn’t seem to bother her as she rids him of his sopping wet clothes. His past self would surely be scandalized at having his teacher undress him, but the current Dimitri just wants to cry at the way he’s so carefully handled even after all he’s said to her and done in his vengeful state. Lastly, she takes off the eyepatch, dropping it on top of his pile of clothes.

Admittedly, after all he went through, personal hygiene was hardly at the forefront of his mind. He would clean himself if the wounds were too deep and too bloody, and lately he’s been bathing a little more regularly if only to get Byleth to stop nagging at him constantly. Now that his mind has slowed down and his hands are bare, he can _feel_ how dirty he is under his armor. 

He lowers himself into the hot water of the sunken bath, breathing sharply when Byleth’s knees bump into his sides as she takes a seat on the stone ledge behind him. She’s discarded her clothes, it seems, and gently takes hold of his chin to tilt his head back and pour water into his hair with a cup, nevermind that it’s already wet. 

Byleth catches him staring, and he wonders what she sees in his face. She seems unbothered by the gruesome sight of his missing right eye and the scar left behind, so much so that she smiles softly again as she squeezes excess water from his hair. 

Dimitri trembles as she scrubs his hair, jolting whenever her nails scratch at his scalp lightly. It’s pleasant and sends sparks through his veins. _Too many sparks_ . He finds himself stirring and reacting in ways much too improper for such an innocent touch bestowed upon him by his teacher. It’s worse when she rubs along his back and shoulders with a lathered bath cloth, and when Byleth moves to tend to his front, there’s dread and shame and _something_ pooling in his gut. 

“Breathe.” He obeys her command, the chest beneath her palm expanding in a long intake of breath. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

So she noticed, didn’t she? Of course she did, nothing gets past her. Still, he tries to will his body to calm down, but can’t stop himself from watching her face. Her eyebrows dip with concern and sadness as she begins wiping his face clean, the cloth delicately brushing over his scarred eye. He doesn’t want to remember how it happened. 

Next, she moves down to his legs, scrubbing his shins and feet, slowly working her way up to his thighs. They share a glance, a silent question and an even quieter consent, before the cloth wanders over to his crotch. Dimitri jumps higher than before and can’t hold back a hiss. Byleth murmurs an apology and quickly tends to some other area, but he’s already mortified as is, throbbing from her touch. 

“Come.” She stands up, his hands in hers as she pulls him up, her eyes trained on his face. He keeps his own trained on the floor as she retrieves a towel, and he offers to dry himself so she won’t have to do everything herself, so he won’t be too useless, to keep some of his pride whole.

When he turns around, she’s dressed in comfortable loungewear, holding a neatly folded change of clothes for himself in her hands. Seteth must have asked someone to bring it over. The fabric is soft, an old pale blue uniform that might fit his size. Dimitri can barely remember the last time he wore something that was not his armor, and hardly recalls when he last wore the clothes provided by Garreg Mach. 

He slips into it before his mind can stray too far, finally covering his shame. The uniform is gentle and loose, caressing him tenderly and bringing a long missed sense of comfort. It’s strange that clothes could do this to someone, yet he feels oddly breathless. 

Byleth takes his hand again, this time to lead him through the chill of the night to her quarters. He wants to protest, but at the same time, doesn’t want to. As much as he doesn’t think he deserves all she’s done for him in the past hour, Dimitri doesn’t want to be alone. And if not to her room, he doesn’t know where he would go. Not the cathedral, or his old room, or even the Goddess Tower - some of his ghosts linger in all of these places. 

Goddess forbid his... Friends see him like this, if they still think of him as their friend, that is. 

Her room is softly illuminated by candles when they enter, a tray of food waiting for them on the small table. Enough for two, and yet she pushes most of the plates and bowls in his direction. Dimitri scarfs down the food, for once noticing his hunger and giving in to it, finding himself too famished to eat like the king he’s supposed to be. 

She eats at a more sedate pace, picking at her stew as her focus is narrowed on having him eat until he can’t anymore. All this time, she had been worrying for his well being, trying to get him to eat more. Now, he finally complies without resistance.

Byleth says something about getting him to put on some healthy weight, maybe have Manuela perform a decent check up on him and try to heal any of the old wounds he keeps tearing open. At this point, he will to whatever she asks, as long as she keeps being so warm like this. 

He feels like a puppy, feeling guilty for destroying the bed of flowers in the garden, but still seeking out his owner’s warm hand for head pats or belly scratches. Two conflicting forces war inside him, his lingering ghosts versus the young boy looking for someone to hold on to. He tries to resist but bends anyway. Selfish is what he is, for accepting her care after all he gave her was pain.

After placing the tray of food on the ground outside the bedroom, Byleth ushers him to _her_ bed. He stalls, propriety holding him back while his muscles beg for some decent rest in moons. Byleth is strong and Dimitri is stronger, but her stubbornness beats his raw strength easily. Down he goes with a push of her warm, kind hands, body sinking into the soft mattress as her smell surrounds him. Ink, paper, grass, and the flowery scent of her soap. 

Byleth leans over him and smiles, gentle and beautiful and his breath stutters. “Comfortable?” He nods wordlessly, as if his muscles visibly loosening up weren’t enough an answer already. “Excellent. Now try to get some sleep.” 

“Where are you going to sleep?” He asks, voice unusually quiet, vulnerable even. Strange to his own ears when all he’s heard coming from his mouth were growls and snarls.

She starts with a slight _oh_ and glances at her wardrobe. “I have plenty of extra blankets.” 

Dimitri pushes up on his hands to stand, but her hands find his shoulders and push him down again. “It’s your bed. I- I shouldn’t.” 

“Please, Dimitri, I’ve slept in worse conditions before.”

“Is- Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She chuckles, a brief and low sound that makes his heart impossibly full. Dimitri quickly backs away on the mattress until his back hits the cold wall of her room, vacating some space on the bed. Byleth swallows down her mirth and quirks a brow at him, hands on her hips. 

“We can share?” He offers lamely. Just a few hours ago, he was skewering people left and right like an animal. Now, he cowers, afraid of crossing a line with her. A man of his size and strength, afraid of a tiny woman such as Byleth. Tiny, but more powerful than him in many ways. 

She is quiet for a moment, brown wrinkling as she considers (!) his proposal. He wants to smooth away the lines on her skin with his thumb, return some of the kind gestures she’s showed him in all the time he’s known her. Dimitri keeps his hands to himself.

With a shrug, Byleth kicks away her slippers and joins him on the bed, lying sideways to face him and rendering him paralyzed. She laughs and reaches for his hand, making him jump. “Come on, you won’t get any sleep if you’re this tense.” 

He nods, body relaxing gradually as he watches her face. Byleth keeps some space between their bodies, mindful of his personal space and trying not to overwhelm him, but still holds his hand in hers, thumb stroking his knuckles occasionally. With a smile, she bids him goodnight and closes her eyes. 

Under the flickering light of the candles, Dimitri watches her, notes that it takes her breathing a while to even out as she succumbs to sleep. Her thumb has stilled, so he shifts his hand around to return the gesture. 

His ghost are quiet, and the young boy inside him is appeased. Byleth’s face is serene, her smell, warmth, presence and breathing grounding him, keeping him safe and protected. 

Dimitri exhales, laces their fingers together and finally, finally, sleeps.


	5. hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri looks down at their hands, swinging closely as they walk back to the ball. How nice would it be to hold her hand? Her hands are much smaller than his... He’d call them delicate if he didn’t know the strength in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's in smash, y'all know what that means :^) 
> 
> I wrote this a long while ago after writing two angsty prompts in a row. I wanted something fluffy, maybe funny idk, so I remembered an old, old, old post I saw on tumblr literally three years ago, and decided to give it a try. I might never be fully satisfied with it but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm running out of small one-shots like this, buut on the other hand, I've finished the game completely and now I can post that long fic I mentioned some updates ago :^) I'm currently trying to proof read the first chapter but oof. Can't focus.
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy! And have fun beating other players up with Byleth on online mode :^)

His warm skin tingles as they walk out of the Goddess Tower and into the cool air of the night. Dimitri’s cheeks are still pink from his earlier words, embarrassment clutching him tightly and refusing to let go. 

Byleth seems unaffected by his blunder despite the fact that she did not find his joke - which was not, in fact, a joke - very funny, but at least her features are still soft, a slight curve to her lips and shine in her eyes. It’s a relief to know he didn’t ruin her night. 

He tries hard not to stare, but it’s hard when the moonlight falls on her just right and he’s reminded that he’s hopelessly infatuated with their teacher. 

Well, infatuated is the understatement of the century.

It’s no secret that all three house leaders had found their mercenary rescuer to be intriguing, to say the least. More like, each of them saw her as an asset to be added to their respective territories for one reason or another. She had skills, incredible ones, and he couldn’t help but think that having her by his side would benefit him greatly in his quest for revenge, even if he was distrustful of her still.

Thus, they taunted each other during meals as to which class would become the new professor’s chosen house, with Dimitri coming out victorious but still unwilling to openly rub it in their faces as Claude would have done. As Edelgard would have done as well, but with far more poise and elegance. 

Victorious as he was, Dimitri still kept a close eye on Byleth. Hypocritical as it might be coming from someone like him, he couldn’t just trust someone who killed others without batting an eye. As the days passed and he assessed if she truly was trustworthy, Byleth unknowingly started winning him over long before he’d reached a conclusion. 

And then came the shame for seeing her as a weapon to be added to his arsenal, not a human with actual feelings, despite the fact that they were hidden under layers and layers that needed time and care to be breached. 

Dimitri hadn’t realized what his shifting feelings meant until she’d smiled warmly shortly after Flayn’s rescue and he found himself mesmerized by her genuine smile. And from there onwards, it was just a swift freefall from admiration to puppy crush to finally admitting to himself that he was in love with their dear professor. 

He had made plans to actually invite her to the Goddess Tower, wrote down his carefully chosen words and all, but never got around to asking because he was too much of a coward, it seems. But then she willingly made her way here and Dimitri couldn’t let this opportunity pass, only to say all the words he’d planned and brush them off as a joke because she had offered no immediate reply. 

Resisting the urge to sigh, Dimitri looks down at their hands, swinging closely as they walk back to the ball. How nice would it be to hold her hand? Her hands are much smaller than his... He’d call them delicate if he didn’t know the strength in them. 

Frowning at the inch of space between them, his brain supplies him with a memory of his friends from not too long ago. Sylvain was bugging everyone until Ingrid caved in with a sigh and played along, only to groan and punch him in the arm at how _bad_ that move was, even for him. Dimitri found it corny then, but... 

But now he is not in a clear state of mind to stop himself from stealing what could be his friend’s poorest attempt at flirting up to date. He’s sad that Byleth didn’t answer, and upset at himself for taking back his words, and he’s _yearning_ for her, all at once.

What a dangerous mix. There is no space for rational thought, now. 

“Professor.” They stop in the middle of the bridge, just the two of them and the moon and stars above. Wind rustles faraway trees and a few crickets chirp somewhere nearby, the sounds from the ball too distant to be heard. 

In the almost stillness that surrounds them tonight, Dimitri feels like time has stopped, like it’s just the two of them in the world right now. It makes him feel lightheaded, dizzy and stupid. 

“What is it?” She asks gently, undoubtedly taking notice of the flush on his cheeks and the determined, but anxious look on his features. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear his heart beating like a dozen warhorses over the silence. 

Dimitri slips his shaking hand into his pocket, then pulls out a tightly closed fist, lifting it up until her eyes fall on it. “Can you... Hold this for me, for a second?” 

Byleth quirks a brow and lifts a hand, palm up, her face glowing in the moonlight and intrigued. “Sure.” 

Exhaling slowly, Dimitri brings his fist closer to her upturned palm and uncurls his fingers. Nothing lands on Byleth’s hand. Puzzled, she’s about to question him when his hand closes the gap between them, fingers sliding into the spaces between her own to lace their fingers together. 

“...” Blinking, Byleth stares at their joined hands a little longer before risking a glance at a dazzed Dimitri. “Oh.” 

Her quiet reply snaps him out of him, red taking over his features whilst his teeth press together as he cringes at himself. With a groan, Dimitri hides his face into his vacant palm, face burning up with mortification, but doesn’t release her hand. 

Of course his brain would catch up once the damage had already been done. If only his brain cells had started functioning properly before he could have grasped her hand - which is so small and fits _perfectly_ with his, goddess, he doesn’t want to let go - and saved him from the humiliation eating him alive.

This is inappropriate. He shouldn’t have done this. She had already turned him down without actual words. He should have caught the hint! She’s his professor! He’s her student, a prince, a future king! She’s- 

Laughing. 

Dumbfounded, Dimitri lifts his head to see her laughing into her other palm, trying to keep it quiet, her cheeks rosy in a way he had never seen. Byleth’s fingers curl around his hand and squeeze, and her eyes are at their brightest when she looks at him again, reflecting the moon and stars above. 

“All right.” Her smile makes his heart do some funny cartwheel in his chest and his stomach flips pleasantly. “I’ll hold it... For a second.” 

* * *

“Beloved?” Dimitri calls into the greenhouse, looking for a flash of pale mint among the vibrant shades of green of the surrounding foliage. 

“Over here!” He follows the sound of her voice, accompanied by the distant rustling of leaves and clanking of gardening tools. A pair of dirtied gardening gloves are discarded by her feet, and both her bare hands are clasped together. Dimitri takes note of the ring around her finger, as always. The gem of choice really compliments her features, especially her eyes. 

Byleth walks over to him, and he takes the opportunity to admire her shape and curves, resting his hand on the exposed skin of her waist as she stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. 

She steps away soon after, as if sensing that he was preparing to trap her in place and kiss her until all his longing had been quenched and he was satisfied, which usually takes a long, long while. Truth is, he’s always longing for her.

Byleth smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes, and he wonders what his dear wife has in store for him. “Do you want to see something I found?” 

“Of course.” Does she even have to ask? “I am always interested in what you have to show or say, beloved.” 

Byleth makes a quiet joyful noise that he thinks might be a giggle, but it’s too fleeting for him to confirm. Still, it fills his insides with warmth, and he trains his single eye on the closed fist she lifts up. The same hand with the ring, he notices. He really likes the sight of it, a reminder to anyone who sees it that she’s his and his alone.

And he is hers, wholly. 

“Well, then,” she gestures with her other hand. “Give me your hand.” 

Dimitri holds it up, genuinely curious. It turns out to be nothing at all, for the moment her fingers unfurl, Byleth is quick to slip them through the gaps of his fingers and hold tightly to his hand. He grasps hers just as tightly, still looking at her hand expectantly, waiting for the surprise.

“...” He glances at her face, confused, as his mind jogs and he’s hit with the feeling that this is familiar. Very familiar indeed... Then it clicks. “Ah! Hahaha!” Tugging her closer, Dimitri folds her in a warm embrace, burying his nose in her hair. “I cannot believe you remember something like that, beloved. I am touched, but also embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” She kisses his cheek, and her thumb strokes his knuckles. He likes the feel of the skin-warm silver band against his own skin. “That was cute.”

Dimitri cups her face to place a sweet kiss on her lips. “Cute isn’t a word I would use to describe myself at all. It’s hard to imagine.”

“Nonsense. You can still be cute.” She surges up again to meet his mouth with her own in a lingering kiss, her other hand lost in his blonde strands. “It’s endearing how big and soft you are.” 

“Really?” He hums, trailing his fingers down along the line of her spine. 

Byleth nods in agreement, her smile pressed to his lips. Under the sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the greenhouse, her half-lidded eyes shine with affection and something else. “I like it most when you’re soft after being rough. I like the duality.” 

Dimitri groans when she gives his hair a purposeful tug, and he grips her hip with heated intent. “You do now?” He asks, walking her backwards, deeper into the cluster of plants, seeking cover. 

“Yeah,” she replies breathlessly, a quiet moan bubbling up her throat when he presses her against one of the support pillars of the building. 

He can only hope no one will walk into the greenhouse. 


	6. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Professor, you must be freezing.” Dimitri doesn’t think much of his actions, simply drapes his cape over her shoulders. Byleth stiffens, but quickly lowers her guard and steps closer, seeking his warmth.
> 
> “It is a bit cold, yes.” He almost laughs - of course she will never admit that Fhirdiad is too cold for her - and pulls her closer still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'll write something nice for vday. something fluffy, just happiness and love. good vibes only  
> my hands and my brain: shut up, we do what we w a n t
> 
> Anyway! Here's my belated valentine's day gift to all of you! I didn't finish it in time, but better late than never. Now for a bit of self promo, a few weeks ago I posted the [first chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499437) of my new dimileth fic :3c
> 
> I hope you'll find this enjoyable. A happy week to everyone!

Taking back Fhirdiad fills an empty space inside him with fulfillment. It’s the first step to making things right, the first step to honoring his deceased family and friends. 

Despite having abandoned them, the residents of the kingdom capital, _his_ people, welcome him with cheers and open arms. Still, his skin feels tight where the tear tracks have dried, and his eyes are a kind of sensitive he hasn’t felt in so long. 

An impromptu celebration followed their success, the food simple and not as abundant as in a feast, but still put together with great joy. The festivity is still going on full swing down in the courtyard, but Dimitri has pulled away from the sounds and lights to revisit the place he once called home. 

Under Cornelia’s care, or lack of thereof, the palace has fallen into a state of disrepair. Furniture is broken in every room, and some windows have been shattered, letting in a flurry of snowflakes carried by the frigid wind of the Pegasus Moon. Portions of the staircase are missing as he ascends the floors, the handrails damaged and wobbly and wholly unsafe. 

He doesn’t mean to, or maybe his subconscious brought him here, but Dimitri ends up in his old room. The moon is full and casts a cold silver light in the interior of his bedroom, highlighting the tattered remains of the curtains and making shards of glass glimmer. Two posts of his bed are broken, the canopy torn to pieces. The bed doesn’t look as comfortable and welcoming as it once had, now covered in a layer of dust that coats every surface of the room. 

In an attempt to make it better, he moves over to the broken doors that lead to the balcony to push them open, finding it hard to breathe in here. It’s the air, he tells himself, but doesn’t believe his own words. Cold wind sweeps in, making the skin of his face even tighter than before, and he backtracks further into the chamber. 

Some weapons are still up decorating his walls, as well as old toys he held onto in a fit of sentimentality. A snowglobe rests on the mantle of the hearth, the lance-wielding knight inside was modeled after his father’s image. 

A quiet rap sounds from the door, and he puts the snowglobe down before turning to face the visitor. “May I come in?” 

His lips pull into a smile, small and fragile still, as he notices his dear professor standing by his door. Byleth keeps her eyes trained on him instead of sweeping her gaze around his bedroom, afraid of intruding into his space with her eyes alone. 

“Yes, of course.” Nodding, she steps inside, closing the distance between them with quiet strides. Dimitri reaches his gloved hand out at the same time her own hand moves towards his, her touch and grip as comforting to him now as it had been that day in the rain.

“You disappeared suddenly,” she explains. Even now in the dim light, her eyes seem so bright. “I looked everywhere for you.” 

“I apologize. It was not my intention to worry you.” He could begin to guess what went through her mind when she noticed he wasn’t in the courtyard anymore. “I merely wished to... Reacquaint myself with this place.” 

Byleth nods and finally lets her eyes travel around the room. “Is this your bedroom?” 

“Yes, it... Yes, it is.” The knight tale books that fell from the shelves, the torn clothes that were removed from ruined drawers, the weapons broken by his bare hands when he couldn’t control the strength of his Crest; all of it is his. From the dusty floor to the peeling wallpaper to the broken ceiling. His. Again. 

Her lips part to speak, but a gust of wind cuts her words off with a full-body shiver, and Dimitri is suddenly mortified at himself for inviting her in when the doors are wide open. He is used to winter at its peak in Fhirdiad and the snowstorms it brings, but Byleth isn’t, and even in the warmer outfit she wears, which isn’t much, it is still far too cold for her. 

The woolen sweater is a snug fit, topped by her usual coat that doesn’t do a good job at keeping the cold at bay. She’s even traded her stockings and shorts for pants, but he doubts they are thick enough to be fit for this weather. 

And her precious hands - bare, her fingertips rosy from the wind, much like her nose and the tips of her ears that peak from beneath her hair. 

“Professor, you must be freezing.” Dimitri doesn’t think much of his actions, simply drapes his cape over her shoulders. Byleth stiffens, but quickly lowers her guard and steps closer, seeking his warmth. 

“It is a bit cold, yes.” He almost laughs - of course she will never admit that Fhirdiad is too cold for her - and pulls her closer still. “I’m glad we can set up camp inside the palace.” 

“I would gladly let our soldiers sleep in all these empty rooms if only they were in liveable conditions.” There will be much to be repaired, both inside and out the palace, and he will probably have to start planning tomorrow morning. “But as they are, all I can offer are walls to block the winds.” 

“That’s more than enough,” she reassures, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Her breath condenses in the space between them, and he finds himself unable to look away from her smiling lips. 

The fingers he has splayed on her back dig into her skin in response, and another shiver rolls down her spine, unrelated to the cold. She blinks slowly, in a daze, and Dimitri can feel his own eyes darkening and clouding over at the sight. He inclines his head down, slow and careful, watches for her reaction intently. 

Byleth bites her lips and rises on her tiptoes. Even then, he has to bend down further until their faces meet. The first press is chaste and lingering. Both their lips are chapped from the weather, and her nose is cold as it bumps awkwardly on his cheek, and yet it still feels perfect. Her hands find his waist as they pull apart, hold onto him as they share one meaningful glance before diving in for more. 

Dimitri has no experience. Before, he had no desire for such things, and once he developed them, his feelings were for someone he deemed unattainable. And then he had only known pain and anger for five whole years, only recently uncovering a tender part of himself that still pines for her as much as he once had. Byleth doesn’t seem to know what she is doing, either, but they both make up for it with their enthusiasm, lips meeting again and again.

Their teeth clack together sometimes, but he remedies that by cupping the back of her head and angling it experimentally. Her front is pressed fully to his, her hands trailing up his chest to lace her fingers on the nape of his neck. Dimitri hums, skin tingling beneath his clothes, hands itching to feel her too. 

He wonders how it would feel like to squeeze her waist, her hips, let his bare hands feel the warm strip of skin revealed when her sweater rides up. How it would feel like to lift her up, hold her thighs, reach _up_ to kiss her- 

Byleth breaks the kiss with a gasp, and for a horrifying second he thinks she will pull away, but she hides her face into his chest instead. He wraps both his arms around her and buries his nose in her hair, inhaling her clean scent as he allows his heart to calm down. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is muffled against him. The arms she wrapped around his waist give him a gentle squeeze. “It was a delicate moment and I shouldn’t have-”

“I made the first move,” Dimitri interrupts immediately. A pause, and he adds, “Unless you didn’t...?” 

Byleth shakes her head, and the panic that built up so high in such a short amount of time crashes down. “I should have waited,” is all she says. Waited for a proper moment, waited for when he wasn’t relearning to see this place as his home again.

Dimitri chooses not to reply to that, and simply kisses the top of her head, sharing more of his warmth with her. Since her arrival earlier, he finds that he can fill his lungs with air more easily, some of the unease nestled in him fading into nothingness. Even the voices, so relentless all throughout five years of solitude, quiet down in her presence until he can hear his own thoughts again. 

How does she do that, he wonders? Is it yet another power granted to her by the goddess, or is it her own doing? 

“How are you feeling?” She asks, still snuggled into his side and no longer shivering. 

Dimitri ponders his answer, but doesn’t find any words to truly describe what he feels. It’s a relief to be here, to be able to reclaim this place, to have driven away that vile woman, but at the same time it is overwhelming, especially considering the last memories he has of the palace. If he concentrates just enough, he can hear his father’s voice in the halls, his uncle’s, Cornelia’s, the ugly laughter of those who dragged him to the prison cells and then wounded Dedue when they were trying to escape. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” He asks instead, the vulnerability he feels inside echoing in his voice. 

Byleth nods once and reaches up to cup his cheek. “Of course. You know you can always come to me whenever you need.” 

Dimitri tilts his face to place a kiss upon her palm, smiling against the skin as she tucks her head into his neck, her own lips curving upwards against him. They stay there for a while, and when Byleth pulls away to guide him towards her tent, her fingers laced with his own, something inside him slides into place. Like a missing piece of a puzzle, or a piece of himself that had been lost.

Or maybe it’s just her, settling deeper into his heart and making herself comfortable. 

When she smiles as they together, Byleth tucked into his side and his arm around her, he makes himself comfortable in her heart, too.

**Author's Note:**

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